Mistletoe
by Leia1912
Summary: A little holiday story: Certain well-meaning friends lure Sarah to a Christmas ball in the Underground. Naturally, a certain Goblin King has also been invited...
1. Prologue

[The characters of _Labyrinth_ belong, of course, to Jim Henson. This story was inspired by a challenge on Marysia.com's message board and influenced by the idea in Saxonny's "Beauty and the Beast" (go read it!) of interweaving _Labyrinth_ and other stories. Any similarities to certain fairytales (and ballets!) here is therefore absolutely intended.]

"Hoggle, you have _got_ to be kidding me."

Sarah Williams stared down at the dwarf, currently twisting an envelope in his large hands. No, it was not the very existence of a dwarf before her that shocked her—Sarah, after all, had first encountered the Underground when she was fifteen. She had remained in contact with her friends there, particularly Hoggle, for the past dozen years since her adventure there, when she had beaten the Goblin King's Labyrinth. Furry giants, talking foxes with a chivalry fetish, even a dwarf in her living room—none of these phased her. Instead, it took the dwarf's request to stun her. 

Hoggle looked, if possible, even more anxiously at her. "Sarah, ya don't understan'. I can't be goin' by meself!"

She suppressed a laugh in her throat, not wanting to offend him. _God, he sounds like me, trying to drag all my guy friends to that wedding last summer, because I didn't have a date_. Memories of how relieved she'd been when Mike had agreed to go made her suddenly feel guilty for her treatment of Hoggle. She sat down on her couch and waved Hoggle to join her, regarding him over the rim of her Diet Coke as he perched on the edge of the couch cushion. "Let me get this straight. You've received an invitation to some kind of Christmas ball?"

He nodded so vigorously he nearly topped off the couch, but managed to steady himself before disaster struck. "Yep, I got this invitation delivered to me home, just like I was fancy folk."

She regarded the fine quality of the envelope he handed her, first with admiration, then with suspicion. "Hoggle, this isn't a royal ball, is it?"

He looked at her with a frown. "'Course it is, it's held by 'Er Majesty." 

Her Majesty. It's curious how words that seem perfectly innocent can have all the impact on a person that a gunshot might. Sarah blinked, breathed, fought back an abrupt wave of nausea. _Give me a break, Sarah. Get your head on. Just because some old crush has a life of his own…Get a grip! You had no relationship with him whatsoever; he was just the first handsome guy you ever ran into…There's no reason to be upset… _Thought failing to reassure her whatsoever, she glanced over at Hoggle; if she had been more observant, she would have noticed the intense interest with which he had been studying her. "Her—Majesty?" she croaked, despising herself.

He nodded serenely. "Yep, Jareth's mum, the Queen o' the Underground itself. She ain't at all like him, don't you worry. She's a good sort. I been working for her for a couple years now on the side, 'cause her gardens had so many of those damn fairies."

She tried not to look too relieved. Why should she be relieved? Good grief, it wasn't as though _she_ wanted a relationship with him! Visions of certain late-night dreams flashed before her eyes briefly, causing an instant blush, but she shoved them aside. _Okay, so I'm female, big deal that I have had fantasies about a gorgeous sex-god of a…_

"Sarah? Sarah?"

Reddening, she shook her head, coughed lamely, and waved her hand. "Oh, sorry, Hoggle, I was , um, just thinking about my own garden." _Yeah, right, you could say that again…Shut up, self!_ "Um, since it is being held by _his_ mother and all….You are sure the Goblin King won't be there?" 

"Course. He ain't feelin' festive, I hears. He hates his mum's parties, too. But he gets invited to them all the time. I don't," Hoggle finished pointedly, his eyes pinned on Sarah. "She's asked me as a special thanks an' I gots to go, but I gots to at least bring a friend, in case I don't know nobody there."

Sarah sighed, convinced again that she was insane because she was actually considering this. No matter that she'd nearly lost her baby brother, or her own life, in her last trip to the Underground. No matter that she'd had nightmares about that incident for years afterward, nightmares of being caught there as the clock chimed the thirteenth hour. No, she was considering going back to that place because…well, a friend needed her. What else could she say? And since Jareth, who was the principal reason she'd been frightened in the Underground, wasn't going to be around, what real problem could there be? 

"Yes, Hoggle, I will go with you," she heard herself saying, as a tiny voice inside whispered back to her: _And this, Williams, is how you always get into trouble._

* * *

Hours later, a dwarf and another woman walked through a winter garden, blissfully fairy-free.

"She is coming, then?" asked the woman, musing over a rose that was emerging from the snow bank. "Excellent."

The dwarf rubbed his boot against the ground, frowning. "But Jareth—'is temper…Not meanin' to offend Your Majesty…"

A secretive smile moved across the Queen's face; her lips curled briefly in a smirk that made Hoggle tremble instinctively, recalling that expression on the face of another. "My son has a poor temper at times, I know, Hoggle, but do not fear, he will not lift a finger against you. Not even my Jareth can defy his mother!" And she laughed merrily, brushing snow off another rose.

Hoggle nodded. "Majesty, I trusts ya…but Sarah…"

"She will be quite pleased with us, I promise you, Hoggle." The woman, older than Sarah but no less fair in Hoggle's eyes for her great kindness, smiled down at him. "We will be giving her a Christmas present she could only have dreamt of."

* * * 

Two days later, Sarah found herself standing in a small but cozy room within what Hoggle had said was the Queen's Castle. She shivered nonetheless; just setting foot into the Underground again had awakened old nightmares of losing to the Goblin King, condemning her baby brother to be his eternal prisoner.

Sarah shook her head to get rid of the thought. _This isn't the Goblin Castle, after all. _In fact, Hoggle had told her the Queen's Castle was the Queen's favorite retreat. Well, "retreat" would be a bit of an understatement, from what Sarah could see out of the window—the castle, all gleaming white with blue peaked towers, was simply enormous. But this Queen—Jareth's mother, she reminded herself with an internal wince—seemed to do everything rather excessively. _Must run in the family_. 

Sarah's eyes drifted to the red velvet dress hanging on the door of the wardrobe; Hoggle had told her the Queen had granted him the favor of a new outfit for himself and his ball companion. She regarded the dress again, her fingers brushing against its softness. It seemed innocent enough; long, rather simple, and though off-the-shoulder, not particularly revealing. All-in-all pretty but hardly the overdone romantic statement that her first ball dress had been—but that had been a dream, she told herself firmly, and pushed the memory away. Her throat tightened briefly as she regarded the shoes; they were crystal-clear, almost like glass—she would've wondered if she was being mocked, had not Hoggle sounded so completely pleased with his Queen's generosity. _Who knows, maybe it was just a joke for Hoggle's sake, that "we" must be feeling like Cinderella now…Well, sorry, I've got the wicked stepmother, but I've been to one ball already and let's just say the Prince there left something to be des—_

A voice in the hallway caused Sarah to jump and reminded her that she was meant to change, not dally, in the little room. _As if I'd want to stay here a minute longer than necessary! Why the hell did I agree to do this? _Ordering her brain to quit worrying, she tugged the dress on and stepped into the slippers just in time to hear Hoggle's knock on the door. 

* * *


	2. A Christmas Gift

Hoggle dodged a ballskirt, a servant, and an obnoxious child who had mistaken him for an elf before reaching his destination, the Queen's side. The Queen had spotted him ducking through the crowds and moved gracefully from her admirers, pausing to look out the glittering, frost-covered windows. To all the world she cared for nothing but the sip of her wine and the darkened image of the gardens beyond the ballroom windows; Hoggle, however, knew very well that she was studying the reflection of the room within the glass.

"Well?" she murmured.

"She's here. I left 'er o'er by the dark corner; she's watching the dancin'." Hoggle glanced over his shoulder to double-check—yes, Sarah was still there, sipping punch and sitting in the area where the too-young and too-old gathered to jealously regard the dancing. Inventing a thin excuse about mortal-haters amongst the guests, Hoggle had warned her against talking to the others without him present; he hated to bore her but the Queen was right—it might all go badly if she heard something she shouldn't. Hoggle glanced at Sarah, who was staring absently down at her glass shoe, and half-feared she would jump to her feet, call them all liars, and storm off from the ballroom on the spot.

The Queen's eyes drifted across the glass to the object of Hoggle's interest and then her smile broadened. "Perfect, my friend. Now, I believe it is my turn?" Without waiting for Hoggle's response, she threaded her way to another corner of the ballroom, where the royal tables were positioned on an elongated dais. The tables were for the most part empty, as all the visiting royalty had finished with the toasting and descended for the dancing. All but one individual, who sat with his leg tossed casually over the arm of his chair, sipping carelessly from a brandy glass, and a stormcloud expression on his finely chiseled features.

"My son, will you never learn how to behave?" 

He glanced up and Jareth's face lightened with the smile that made her heart hurt; that sweet smile had been reserved for her since birth, but he rarely used it otherwise these days. "Of course not. What challenge would you have if I didn't give you reason to harangue me?"

She tapped him lightly on the arm with her fan. "Hush. You know what I meant. Do sit up." 

He smirked, rolled his eyes playfully, but did as she bade. "Anything for you, Mother."

"I don't understand why you are sitting up here to begin with. Why are you not dancing? Or entertaining the eligible ladies present?"

She pretended not to hear groan of irritation. "Perhaps I'm up here to avoid these sorts of conversations, Mother. I rather dislike being viewed as a prospective stallion at stud." 

She made a noise of protest at the vulgarity and pretended to frown, aware of his expectations of her. She glanced casually over to the darkened corner. Excellent; the girl was still unoccupied. Then she turned, beaming, to him; even before she spoke, she saw his eyes narrow and knew he was suspicious of her sudden mood change. Very well, she would not need to pretend much longer. "Oh, don't be so self-absorbed, Jareth. You could be doing some ladies out there a great favor by attending to them. I see several that are badly in need of a companion. Do look—can you see the seating area over there? There are at least—"

She failed to finish her sentence as her son had already kicked back his chair and shot to his feet, a soft exclamation escaping him. She couldn't resist a smug glance at Jareth's face, which was frozen but for the size of his stunned eyes, and then sat back with amusement to watch fate take its course.

* * *

_So I went to this ball_, Sarah imagined telling her friends at school. Her fingers toyed with the holly bracelet on her wrist. _Yes, a real ball, not a party. And it was huge, I could see hundreds of people there—including some gorgeous guys, naturally—and what did I do? I sat all night!_

Sarah sighed and got to her feet, resolved to go looking for Hoggle. At least it would be better than sitting there like the wallflower of the year, feeling not only pointless but also bored out of her mind. Hoggle would pay for this, she vowed to herself. They'd arrived—Hoggle's insistence on being fashionably late causing her great amusement—and he'd promptly ditched her. Lifting a hand to her eyes, she peered around the gigantic ballroom, scouring the room for signs of a runaway dwarf in red velvet. _Where on earth—or Underground—could he have gone? He doesn't know that many people here, from what he said…Where is the Queen? Did she want him? _She looked around for signs of royalty and craned her neck at the elevated tables at the other end of the room; the banners and heraldry down there suggested this is where her hostess had been, if she wasn't there now. Sarah stepped forward from the shadows, almost onto the dance floor, when her eyes noted the seated female figure and the male seated next to her. 

Her mind promptly registered a profanity most ill-suited to her elegant surroundings, as her hands chilled over and her heart abruptly stopped. 

He was sitting—lounging, really—on his chair, leg over the side just as she'd always imagined him. As he suddenly stood, she saw his outfit, his black boots and the breeches that she had always found indecently fascinating. His shirt was white but his coat, at least, was not the blue glittered fantasy from her first ball; he wore a dark green velvet coat this time. She wished she could say it made him less attractive, but then again, she suspected Jareth could be put in sackcloth and women's hands would still automatically itch to rip it off, so handsome was he. Handsome, or beautiful? She had wondered once if he were not somehow a fallen angel, although Hoggle said he was Fae; magic alone could not explain the allure of his sculpted features and lionlike mane of white-gold, the exquisite imperfections of his mismatched eyes and pointed teeth.

And now those breathtaking eyes in that dangerous lion's face, unsmiling, were trained upon her.

For all of her appreciation of his physical attributes, Sarah was no fool when it came to Jareth. Despite years of finely-honed and greatly enjoyed fantasies starring a certain Goblin King, she had never attempted to return to the Underground or have contact with him because she knew just how dangerous that man could be. He might have kidnapped her brother because she had wished it, but he had sent her into the Labyrinth out of his own dark and wild whimsy. He had made it clear what would happen to Toby if she didn't win the Labyrinth by the thirteenth hour. Sarah had no idea what his limits were, only the gut feeling that there were no limits at all when it came to Jareth's will.

So Sarah bolted, spinning on her glass slipper and sprinting urgently back to her corner, seeking the door. But as luck would have it, of course, two things happened: one of her slippers fell off, causing her to glance down to correct her stumble, and as she was glancing down, she failed to see she was about to ram into a wall of white silk and green velvet.

Her hand resting on that wall, feeling a holly sprig in his lapel, the heartbeat beneath beating a nerve-wracking rhythm against her palm, a man's gloved hands fixed on her upper arms, steadying her and also holding her, for the first time since that ball, so long ago….Sarah blinked and mechanically focused on breathing. _Air in, air out. Air in, air out_. A gloved finger suddenly interrupted her thoughts, tilting her chin up to look into his expression, cold and beautiful like an unmarred December snow in abandoned forests. Something glinted briefly in his magical eyes, something that was not magic but just as elusive, as he stared down at her. Eyes abruptly wintry again, his lips suddenly curved into an ominous smirk. "Going somewhere, Sarah?"

* * *


	3. Fire and Ice

_And this is the part where I really ought to faint. Faint, damn it! Faint! _

The human mind, however, is notorious for ignoring direct orders and so Sarah had not the escape of unconsciousness as she stared back up into Jareth's eyes. Her brain, not at its most brilliant, formed just one thought, which passed uncensored from her lips: "What the hell are you doing here?" 

His eyebrows drew together and the lips—_oh, God, don't look at those lips_—pressed together. "My dear, I think I should be asking that of you," he hissed, his hands drawing her forward easily despite her resistance. She could see the simmering anger in his eyes. "What fool's sport is this?"

The wrath of the Goblin King was infamous and during her thirteen hours in the Labyrinth, Sarah had encountered many a reason to fear that anger. But since being rational was not Sarah's strongest quality, she instinctively shoved away from the Goblin King's grip and spat back, "Get off me! I'm not some little child you can bully around!" 

This approach, not surprisingly, did not help the situation. Sarah half-turned, as if to flee towards the center of the ballroom, but Jareth's hand snapped forward and caught her wrist, spinning her back to him. His voice was ominously low, vibrating with barely restrained anger. "Nor am I to be provoked, girl. Explain now, or you will not enjoy the consequences."

"Let go!" she snapped back, tugging at her wrist ineffectively, before switching to another tactic. "Your mother will—"

The gloved clamp on her wrist abruptly loosened as did the anger in Jareth's face. His eyes were still narrowed, but his attention shot briefly to the dais, before returning to her, she noticed. "My mother will what?" His tone was rough, before shifting into his trademark sneer: "Do enlighten me."

His grip had eased sufficiently for her to at last extract her wrist from his hand. Sarah glared. "Well, for one, I'm sure she wouldn't be too happy that you're manhandling her guest!"

"Her guest," he repeated with open disdain, eyebrow arching. 

"Isn't that what I just said? If you have a problem with her inviting Hoggle, take it up with her, not me—I wouldn't have come if I'd known you would be here!"

His features formed a cruel smile. "Why, still afraid of me, little Sarah? Afraid I shall turn your miserable little self into a goblin after all these years?"

"No, just afraid to run into an asshole! Let me alone and I'll find Hoggle and get out of here, and you can go back to bullying those who can't fight back!"

She spun on her heel and again made as if to march away, but this time, a hand came down softly on her forearm. "Sarah, wait." She glanced over at him; his face was still cold, if not as harsh as before. "You say you had nothing to do with this, correct?"

"Yes," she responded impatiently, stomping her foot.

"I see," he murmured absently, glancing over again at the dais. Sarah bit her lip and glared in the opposite direction; it wasn't fair, the man not only was ferociously beautiful, but he had the world's best bedroom voice, too, even when he wasn't even damn trying. 

She blinked, as he suddenly slid to his knee next to her. "What the heck are you doing?" 

He looked up at her, eyebrow lifting, an ironic twist to his mouth, as his hand swept swiftly under the hem of her skirt and then out again. "Did you mean to leave barefoot, then?" She saw then what he held in his hand, the shoe she'd dropped a minute ago. Sarah stared at him in confused silence. He shrugged lightly and a gloved fingertip tapped her ankle, her skin burning from the whisper of that touch; her body obeyed automatically, lifting her foot to allow him to slip the shoe back on. 

Sarah snapped out of her reverie as she heard Jareth's voice. "There," he said, and her foot was released. He rose to his feet and regarded her. 

"Why did you do that?" she asked bluntly.

Jareth shrugged again negligently, his profile to her as his gaze searched the crowd of dancers. "That is the way it is done, is it not?" 

She had no idea what the hell he was talking about, why he no longer seemed enraged with her (not that she was complaining), or why she was not grabbing her skirts and fleeing for her life given his momentary lapse in attention. Oh, all right, she knew perfectly well why she wasn't making a run for it—the same sick part of her that had obsessed about this man, despite what he had done to her and what she knew him to be quite capable of doing, too. Sarah sighed internally at her own weakness. It wasn't every day you ran, literally, into the man of your dreams.

She swallowed and tried to think of something safe to say, something that wouldn't sound too inanely stupid while she decided what to do. "Umm….ahh…So the Underground celebrates Christmas, I see?"

His eye, like that of a waking dragon, slid over to her, eyebrow arched inquiringly. "They celebrate everything here. It is a miracle there are any working days at all."

"Is Christmas here like…we have it?" 

Amusement sat in the curve of his lip. "If you mean gifts and whatnot, not necessarily. But Nicholas is coming by later, so I imagine you will see festivities more like your Aboveground ways then."

"Nicholas?"

"That would be _Saint_ Nicholas to you, I believe," he grinned, facing her, as she gaped. "To us, merely an obese old man with a penchant for velvet." For the first time in their conversation, Jareth smirked with his old mocking humor in place. "What, did you think he wasn't real, too? Forgot to leave the cookies out again?" His eyebrow lifted and his eyes twinkled devilishly. Suddenly, Sarah feared that twinkle far more than the flame of his rage. "Why do I think the Williams household has seen a lot of coal over the years…hmm…Do tell, Sarah," and suddenly he was just in front of her, leaning down to whisper in her ear, "Naughty or nice?"

She jumped back, stunned, and batted his hand away as he again tapped beneath her chin with his finger. "At least I don't abduct my presents, thank you very much." 

"Yes, but the presents given me are certainly well-wrapped, I must say," he purred by her cheek. "Did you miss me, my Sarah?" 

She stiffened with shock and shoved him away again. "Look, I have no idea what you are up to, but go play with someone else's head for once. I'm not into games." 

He grinned mysteriously, stepping forward again as she retreated a pace. "And what if I said neither am I?"

"Bull—" she began, before a man's voice loudly interrupted her. 

"Have a care to where you stand, Your Majesty—the mistletoe!"

Regardless of what Jareth had said about the Underground's conception of Christmas and the lack of Aboveground traditions, Sarah looked up with a feeling of dread. Sure enough, the poisonous berries were dangling from the edge of the archway, right above them. Worse, because the on-looker had been so horribly loud, a significant part of the room was now staring at them expectantly. And God, she didn't even want to look at Jareth's face right now, but she did and regretted it immediately. His eyes sparkled wickedly at her and he spread his hands in a mocking gesture. "Come, come, Sarah, am I really that frightening?" 

Wanting desperately that they were alone, so she could slap that smirk right off his damn face, she jerked him forward with a clutch of his shirt and hastily pecked his cheek, valiantly resisting the urge to just lean in and revel in the dark and spicy warmth of his scent, to nuzzle the taunt masculine texture of his skin. Despite her inner demon's desires, she retreated at once, flushing, glaring up at him defiantly as their audience laughed and booed.

His mild face of surprise now shifted into a grin that grew with her hostile gaze. "Why, Sarah, I never knew you had it in you. I daresay such a standard will be hard to beat." He stepped forward purposefully and she jumped a half-step back, dimly registering the ballroom's laugh at her expense. 

"There's no need, that's enough, it's—it's done," she stammered, catching his sparkling gaze and cursing herself.

Her momentary confusion was sufficient for Jareth's arm to sneak around her waist and for Sarah to feel herself bodily propelled forward. She found herself now gazing directly upwards into those eyes and the utterly devastating smile beneath them. "But they do say it is better to give than receive, do they not?" And before she could answer, before she could do more than form an "O" with her lips in protest, his molten mouth was upon her. 

* * *


	4. And to All, a Good Night!

* * *

Past the cheering crowd, a woman and a dwarf stood by the windows, gazing absently into the night.

"'Bout time," muttered the dwarf.

The woman merely smiled.

* * * 

There are two things one needs to know about kissing. 

1.) It is an art form that requires skill and technique. Fortunately for all involved in this particular situation, Jareth King of Goblins happened to be a master of said art form; he knew quite well his best talents lay not with juggling crystal balls and tossing silken snakes about.

2.) A kiss is a physical act, not necessarily a soul-shaking one. In fact, it is very rare that the earth stops spinning, worlds collide, and life changes permanently, in the process of one kiss. One should therefore never begin a kiss expecting to hear movie music erupt and to see stars move. 

But the stars were moving this night.

Within her flailing brain, Sarah was dimly aware that her mental universe was falling apart, overridden by another force. Caught up against Jareth's masterful mouth, his hands locking her against his body, Sarah did just what any normal girl would do.

She enjoyed herself thoroughly.

* * * 

The warmth of his skin, like the haven of one's bed on a winter morning. The scent of him, a muskiness that teased, like the scent of cider wafting from rooms away. The silk and strength of his mouth, gently guiding, then engulfing. The taste of his tongue, sweeter and softer than caramel passing over her lips. The unbearable solidity of his sculpted thigh by hers, flooding her with a the painful, pleasurable heat of standing too close to a fire. All was sensation within Sarah until their lips parted for air. With a soft gasp, Sarah and Jareth slid apart minimally, eyes at last open, as her reason struggled to resurface. She stared at Jareth, speechless, his face as bewildered as hers. Dimly, she heard it behind them, intervening between them: the distant, dooming iron chime—

The chime. 

_The time_. 

She closed her eyes, as it all went through her again, the nightmare reawakened. _A haunting voice, murmuring in her ear once upon a time: "You have thirteen hours in which to solve the Labyrinth, before your baby brother becomes one of us…forever."_

Sarah's world blurred and rippled, as though a stone had been tossed into this uncertain reality. Instinctive terror took hold. Toby was not there, but she was in the Underground, with the Goblin King, and the clock was tolling, just as it would have for a loser to the Labyrinth, welcoming her brother to eternal imprisonment…In one second, Sarah blinked, tore her head to the side, desperately searching for the clock, knowing it would soon strike the thirteenth hour. In another second, she had skirt in hand and fled the ballroom. In the last second, Jareth, knowing he had been too stunned to catch her, shouted one name, which echoed across the suddenly silent ballroom. 

* * *

"Damn, damn, damn!" swore Hoggle, forgetting his companion. "It wasn't suppos'd to end like this! This is worse than before!"

The Queen shook her head, her misted eyes still watching her son. "No, Hoggle, let us not surrender yet. Look." The crowds were moving back from the Goblin King, as he stood still, hands dangerously light on his hips, and stared coldly into the distance. Then, abruptly, Jareth's golden head inclined downwards; he sunk to his knees, almost as if in prayer. But his hands now held something, Hoggle saw. The dwarf strained his eyes, trying to make out the object in the silent High Prince's hands. 

"It's 'er slipper!" He turned to the Queen in surprise. "But what'll that do? She won't be comin' back fer it!" 

She continued to watch her son. A soft smile began on her face as the Goblin King rose and Jareth stalked out of the ballroom, his face set, the slipper grasped like a weapon in his hand. The Queen turned to face the dwarf again. "Hoggle, my dear, you do know when a dream becomes valuable, do you not?"

"No, Majesty, when?"

Her smile dipped briefly into that smirk again. "When you are willing to go after it."

* * *

_You can't keep Toby, you can't keep me, God, there's almost no time left—just a couple seconds now—Run, Williams, run!--_

"NO!" Sarah cried out, snapping up to a seated position on her bed.

"Oh, my God," Sarah whispered into the darkened room, brushing tangled hair away from her face. Her panicked heart was beating so quickly she almost felt sick, and she could feel beneath her pajamas a light, chilly sweat. Automatically, she lifted her head, scanning the silent, perfectly normal room for predators.

"It was a _dream_," Sarah finally gasped out loud, flopping backwards against the pillow. "A dream, a dream, just a dream," she chanted to herself as her heartbeat slowed. Her eyes closed, she sorted through reassuring mental images of her brother and her own perfectly normal life. _Why am I feeling disappointed? What the hell is wrong with me? Get a grip, Williams. It was just a dream, a realistic one, yeah, but just a dream. A really screwed-up dream, granted. God, one minute I'm dreaming about kissing the Goblin King, really actually believing there's something major between us…that I could have feelings for Jareth…and he'd actually look twice at a person like me…_She frowned and nipped that thought off. _One minute, I'm having dreams about _him_, ridiculous dreams, and the next minute I about have a heart attack at the idea of being stuck down there—and you know that's more realistic than him kissing you, Williams. He'd have locked Toby up, made him a goblin, and God knows, maybe me too, if I'd lost before…Wonder what that would have been like, having him in my life... You can't say he's not entertaining company. And who knows, maybe…I can't believe I'm actually wondering about this! What is wrong with my head? Was it something I ate? Note to self: avoid that seafood shop on Main from now on._ She sighed._ But if it gives me dreams like that kiss, maybe I should be eating there every night. _Her heart flipped over and her lips tingled in memory. _God, if I can make a dream of a kiss that vivid, imagine what sort of dream it would have been if I had dreamt we were up here to begin with and I wasn't scared of being caught there. That dream would be worth the heart attack…Jesus, what is wrong with me?! _Eyes still closed, Sarah snorted to herself, tried to ignore the sudden throbbing in her body, and rolled to her side, determined to sleep.She slid her hand beneath her pillow but as she did, something rubbed against her wrist. _What the—_Frowning, she opened her eyes groggily, sat up and held out her hand to a beam of moonlight. Suddenly, her eyes were fully awake, staring at…_a holly bracelet_. _Like the one on my wrist there, the holly on his lapel…_ The whisper escaped her again: "Oh, my God." 

* * *

Sarah's eyes were locked on her wrist and not her floor, so she failed to note what else the moonlight generously revealed:

In the center of her room, a slipper of glass, lying alone, as if waiting for its mate. 

And an owl, in the winter night beyond Sarah's room, watching her intently, as if waiting for his.

* * * 

Somewhere far away, the dwarf watched the Queen smile over the crystal in her hand, then gently set it aside. She murmured softly to herself, and Hoggle leaned in to catch her words:

"And so, for all a good night…Merry Christmas, my dears."

* * * 

The End

--or not? I'm uploading a sequel to this work, "Should Auld Acquaintance Be Forgot," under an R rating. 

Thanks to all who reviewed!


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